


confusion is a definite direction

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: enigma [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (He tries), Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Assumed Relationship, Awkward Flirting, Background Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Good Friend Stiles Stilinski, Jealous Scott, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: They finally get to meet the totally dark and handsome Derek, who always shows up on Allison's doorstep with some news about the latest problem in their neighborhood.He's way hotter than either of them expected, which is causes a different problem for Stiles than it does for Scott.--Or Buffy!AU, where Derek stares a lot and expects that to be as good as actually talking, and Stiles pretends that his obsession with Derek is because of Allison's potential mystery romance.





	confusion is a definite direction

**Author's Note:**

> so my brain took one look at "scooby" and said "scooby gang! do a buffyverse" and...... i am but a slave to my creative soul, it does as it pleases
> 
> title is from one of the songs i listened to from the buffy s1 cd, [charge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBvFNBdj2rk). i also recommend both [virgin state of mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtxrCOVBySg), as well as [strong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6zpsBeOWAM).
> 
> i wrote a lot more than i expected and it still went in a slightly different direction (doesn't it always?), but hey. 4k is nice enough for me, my man

                Stiles notices the exact second that Allison freezes up and stops listening to Scott’s words. He can’t quite really blame her for that, because Scott wasn’t talking about anything all that important. However, when he follows the sight of her gaze, he _really_ gets it. Before he can help it, he sucks in a breath, “ _Damn_.”

 

                Scott stops in his tracks and glances over the two of them before turning around to see what they’re looking at just past his shoulder. Behind him, is a tall man with dark hair and intense eyes trained right on them. Or, more accurately, trained on Allison, as he makes his way to the table they’re sitting at. The rest of the world seems to go quiet, even the music blaring loudly dampens, as he weaves his way through the dancing and the crowds.

 

                “Who is that?” Scott asks, despite the fact that it’s clear that Allison isn’t listening anymore. Instead, she’s starting to stand up, a worried crease coming between her eyebrows, and her hand comes up to fiddle with her necklace. It’s a short-chained silver cross, one that the ever-so mysterious _Derek_ gave her –

 

                _Oh_.

 

                “Dude,” Stiles whispers while the two of them watch on as Allison and Derek do their… thing. “That’s gotta be Derek. What love confession-slash-world ending news do you think he has for her this time?”

 

                Derek, still several feet away from them, breaks from his staring at Allison to flick a glance their way as if realizing that he was interrupting something. His eyes slide from Scott to Stiles, at which his expression twitches, and then he and Allison finally close enough. He says something that looks close enough to _we need to talk_ , and they’re both heading out back where it’s quieter.

 

                “Man,” Stiles starts, face twisting up, turning back to Scott. “You saw that, right? He totally made a face at me.”

 

                Except, when he spots Scott, Scott’s not looking back at him. He’s still staring after where the two disappeared off to. There’s a scowl on his face. Oh. Stiles kinda feels bad about that. His first comment on Derek when he saw him probably didn’t help matters, either. Well, he can salvage this. Or try to.

 

                He slaps a hand down on Scott’s shoulder, abruptly bringing Scott’s attention back to him. He jerks his head upwards, towards the “second floor”. “Let’s go up there and play Guess Who with the _party-goers_ here.” When Scott looks skeptical, Stiles slips out of his seat and tugs at Scott, pulling him off his. “Come on, I’ll buy you a soda.”

 

                Besides, when Allison comes back, she can find them pretty easily. She’s got a knack for that.

 

                …if she comes back, that is.

 

                Yeah, better not share that thought with Scott.

 

* * *

 

 

                Stiles is nothing if not an opportunist. Since Scott is running late and not within hearing range, it’s totally not against the bro code for Stiles to ask about this. Totally not. Shut up.

 

                “Soo,” he drawls, trying to use his tongue to pull his straw into his mouth. Allison shoots him an amused look as she shifts to face him properly. “Derek, huh? He’s hot.”

 

                Like, _really_ hot. And that leather jacket? He probably smells nice too. Allison’s lucky. If Stiles had older people that looked like _that_ interested in him, he’d totally skip on anybody around their school, too (sorry, Scott).

 

                Allison laughs, and for a second, Stiles thinks it’s because he still can’t get the goddamn straw to bend to his whims, but she shakes her head and waves a hand in the air as if to brush the whole idea off. “I mean, sure. He’s not a bad sight on the eyes, but it’s not like that. He just keeps me updated on the ‘supe world.”

 

                Huh. He thinks about that for a second, but then his gaze drops pointedly to her neck, where she still wears that cross. “Right.”

 

                 She looks down at it and clenches it in her hand. Yeah, looks pretty friendly to him. He resists a snort.

 

                He looks up again to see Allison’s eyes a touch harder than before and he opens his mouth to apologize, probably for pushing a little too much, but Allison gets there first. As she speaks, she tucks her necklace under her shirt. “No, really. This, he said, was something of a custom. I need to look further into it in the library, but –”

 

                She’s cut off when Scott finally shows up, sporting lunch and a single muffin that he dutifully deposits in front of Allison. She beams at him in thanks and Stiles has a brief flicker of jealousy – cute girls get so much. Free muffins, hot guys after them, the ability to be a kickass Slayer…

 

                “So, what are we talking about here?” Scott asks, completely unconcerned as he then stuffs his face with whatever horror they’re serving up for lunch today. Yeah, Stiles would rather not tempt fate like that. He doesn’t actually _enjoy_ getting food poisoning, after all.

 

                But still, he’s not a terrible friend – asking about his best friend’s crush’s potential love interests notwithstanding – so he nonchalantly answers so Allison doesn’t have to, “Studying for that big test coming up.”

 

                Scott makes a choking sound that has everyone worriedly looking over in alarm, but he quickly gets it under control and asks with a hand coming up to cover his mouth, “ _What_ _test?!_ ”

 

                Allison laughs in leu of saying anything helpful, but Scott seems to forget about everything else at the sound, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

                As they usually do, Derek’s warning came to fruition, much to Scott’s frustration. With said forewarning and ample time, they were able to actually prepare. Man, when the guy does come up from whatever sewer system he probably hangs out in during the light of day, his advice really works out for them. Battles tend to go much quicker and smoother with his help.

 

                Stiles wonders where he does hang out most of the time, though, when he’s not busy being their supernatural spy. Maybe he really _does_ live in the sewers. Maybe he’s actually a… vampire?

 

                No, that’d be stupid. What kind of vampire would give the Slayer a _cross_ necklace? What kind of vampire would help the Slayer at all?

 

                He’s totally not a vamp.

 

                Speaking of vampires… Stiles brushes down his shirt, watching the dust sprinkle into the grass. “We should really invest in lint rollers,” he says to the group at large, eyes still on his dirtied clothes, despite knowing they’re probably not listening. “Or a vacuum.”

 

                From behind him, he hears a snort. He turns, opening his mouth to add something else, expecting it to be Scott, but the joke dies in his throat when he sees that it wasn’t his friend that’d made the sound. Instead, it was Derek, who had showed up unexpectedly – to Stiles, anyway, Allison didn’t look super surprised – to help fight. Stiles would have figured that he’d have left already.

 

                But, he hasn’t. He’s still here, with them, looking over at Stiles with an unreadable expression. “A feather duster would be cheaper.”

 

                Shocked at getting such an unexpected reply, Stiles gapes for a moment. Derek, watching him, does that thing with his face again, where it… jerks, like it’s unsure of what to do, and Stiles yanks himself out of his own spell. Damn, that was probably rude, to just stare at the guy when he’d cracked back a joke. He quickly recollects himself and, with a glance at Allison (who’s watching, too, a small grin growing on her face), he tries, “But would it be as efficient?”

 

                His words come out weak, but Derek doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He rolls his head on his shoulders as if he’s thinking it over, eyes keeping up that damning, incredibly intense eye contact with Stiles before he answers, “I’d think so.”

 

                And, well, he’s right. Probably. Stiles doesn’t think the others would be up for testing which product would clean up vampire dust the best, but – the point is that it’s kind of a stupid thing to be talking about. It’s nice though, to talk about something dumb as they let their adrenaline simmer down. He just didn’t think that _Derek_ of all people would be the one offering up meaningless conversation.

 

                He can feel the corner of his mouth starting to tug upwards in reply, and he breaks contact with Derek to glance over at over at the others. They’re both watching openly, but with differing reactions. Allison looks amused, more than anything, and Stiles feels a tad bit embarrassed from knowing they saw that. But Scott…

 

                Scott’s jaw is taunt with displeasure, and when he sees Stiles looking back at him, he turns away. It feels like a dismissal.

 

                Stiles can feel the beginning of his smile dim already as he stares after Scott. Crap, of course. _Scott_ , who’d been watching all of that.

 

                He bites his lip and looks elsewhere as well, at the ground, at the tombstones around them, anything other than the people here. When he does look up again, however, Derek –

 

                Derek’s looking right back. It looks like he has been the whole time.

 

                However, Derek moves to say goodbye or whatever to Allison before Stiles can snap _what?_ at him like suddenly itches to do so. He disappears, leaving Stiles with a suddenly dry throat and the uncomfortable feeling of something crawling around in his gut.

 

                Weird. He – the entire thing is so weird.

 

* * *

 

 

                He’s able to wait just long enough for them to be in the middle of a game until he cracks.

 

                “Alright,” he starts, and even to his own ears, he sounds hoarse and serious. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scott pausing the game and even setting the controller on his lap as he turns his head in Stiles’ direction. “Give it to me. Tell me how I’ve been a shit friend about the Allison thing.”

 

                Scott sighs and moves to pick up the controller again, but Stiles snatches it out of his hands and holds it out of Scott’s reach, careful not to pull at the cord connecting it to the console. “Seriously, dude. Lay it on me. I’ve been a dick. A thoughtless dick. Getting all friendly with the enemy. Using too many red pens on your love poetry.” He shrugs after the last statement in a very _okay, well,_ way, and revises, “I’m just trying to make sure your notes are all made of only the top of the line romance, okay? Looking out for my best bud.”

 

                Also, Scott is atrocious at forgetting to change _your_ to _you’re_. He really does need someone looking over his writing for the most part.

 

                Scott pushes him away with a heavy hand on the side of his head, “Ass.” He’s shaking his head, but despite the insult, he is kind of laughing, which is good. It untangles a worried thread somewhere in the bottom of Stiles’ heart.

 

                He sits back against his bed and makes a face as he looks at the ceiling for a long moment. Stiles says nothing, allowing him to gather his thoughts, and soon enough he’s turning back to Stiles, but in his eyes, there’s a look of resignation, defeat, already. “I’m not really mad at _you_. Maybe the situation, I guess.” Stiles very wisely bites down a comment on how emotionally mature this realization of Scott’s is. “It’s just… they’re got so much ground already in the supernatural world, you know? And Derek is… much more good looking than I thought he’d be.”

 

                Damn, if that isn’t the truth. Er, not helpful.

 

                “Sure, he is,” says Stiles, tone breezy, and Scott frowns, but he keeps talking, “But he also kind of looks like he’s always plotting to kill someone, you know? And maybe not just a big bad _vampire_.”

 

                Scott shakes his head again, in amused exasperation, and Stiles grins back. When it falls and returns to seriousness, he leans over to nudge Scott with his shoulder. “Really, though?” He raises his eyebrows. “Dude barges in on her fun time all around the clock, always ruining the mood and killing her buzz. You, on the other hand, my friend, are always there, when it’s fun and when it’s not. Plus, I would bet you anything that you’ve made her smile more than he ever has.”

 

                And with that, he watches the way Scott’s cheeks turn the slightest bit pink before he tries to dunk his head to hide it. Stiles follows after him, ruffling his hair with another laugh. In that brief second before he’d moved, Stiles is pretty sure he saw a rekindled flame of hope alive in his eyes again.

 

* * *

 

 

                “By the way,” Scott says later, as he’s walking Stiles to the door, an arm slung around his shoulders. “We’re cool, you know.”

 

                Stiles looks over at him. “Yeah?”

 

                Scott nods, and looks off. “I don’t think I like him, but… that shouldn’t stop you from like, talking to him, either.”

 

                “Jeez, Scott, I didn’t know you were my keeper.”

 

                Stiles ducks when Scott tries to tighten his grip on his shoulders so he can’t get away from the noogie he’s about to get, but laughs all the same. He knows, in his own way, that was Scott trying to apologize for his reactions, for earlier.

 

                Stiles walks out of his house feeling just a touch lighter.

 

* * *

 

 

                Stiles likes these moments, the quiet between the supernatural world and the rest. He doesn’t even do a whole lot on the slaying front – though he’s a big fan of coming up from behind them and slamming a baseball bat over the tops of their heads – but he doesn’t have to; worrying is exhausting all on its own. He likes walking back into his room after brushing his teeth, fingers skimming the hairs going down his navel as he teases the idea of laying back in his bed, taking some time to himself.

 

                He likes having the option, without feeling the need to go pouring himself into books, researching this and that. He likes knowing that tomorrow night, when he goes out, it’ll be because his and Scott’s turn to _patrol_ , not because there’s something actually, directly after them again. Most of all, he likes one thing he never thought he’d have taken for granted:

 

                Coming back to an empty room, without a single person inside, waiting for him.

 

                Because, shockingly, there Derek is, leaning up against the wall beside Stiles’ room, hands in the pockets of his dark leather jacket. He is practically the archetype of a bad boy, right down to the _I couldn’t give less of a shit_ look and hearthrobbingly way his shirt clings to his chest. Stiles’ throat bobs and in his surprise, he bites his tongue.

 

                Shit, goddamn it, that hurts.

 

                His jaw lets up and in the startled movement, he gasps and then slams one of his arms against the door he’s just shut. It creates a small thump, and he’s so very thankful that his dad isn’t home to question it right now. Wow, he never thought he’d be able to think that about the fact that there’s a _man_ in his bedroom for once (rather than it being because his _taking some time to himself_ got a little too loud).

 

                He pulls his hand back and tucks it into the palm of his other hand to rub at, though the ache is small and isn’t lingering, as he stares down at Derek. “I hope you aren’t here to tell me that I’m the new Slayer. After that particular performance, I’d have to suggest you return me and get another model.”

 

                Derek’s response to that is for his gaze, previously stuck on Stiles’ hands for whatever reason, to flick up to right beneath his face before it slid its way down his chest and sweats. It isn’t a slow look, but it’s more than a little unnerving, especially with Derek’s verbal answer, a single, “No.”

 

                Stiles shivers, and his hands, unsure of what to do now, stop moving. He’s not sure just what part of that Derek was saying _no_ to. He kind of wishes that the guy would at the very least stop with the freaking pose.

 

                (He has the briefest of intrusive thoughts that maybe… just maybe, he could have some romance of his own, but he quickly brushes that off. It won’t do him any good bumbling down that road.)

 

                “So, why are you here then?” Stiles asks, and pauses, because that sounded rude. Then, he realizes that, hey, he doesn’t have to be polite for shit. “You know, in my room. That you broke into. Apparently via my window.”

 

                Derek steps forward away from the window itself, as if it would no longer incriminate him if he drew the focus elsewhere. He rolls back his shoulders, hands still in his pockets, and Stiles is vaguely struck with the image of a predator, stretching out in order to appear larger to scare its prey.

 

                Stiles takes the smallest, totally unnoticeable, of steps backwards, meeting the door behind him. At least he keeps from subconsciously pressing a hand flat against the door to brace himself. Yeah, he could maybe say he’s a little spooked by that. It would explain the elevation of his heartrate, the _thump thump thump_ in his throat.

 

                (But it wouldn’t explain the desire in him to part his legs, to wet his mouth, the _heat_ swirling inside him. Stiles wishes that the explanation for those symptoms was as easy to handle.)

 

                Derek does stop only after one step, but otherwise, if he caught onto Stiles’ reaction, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he watches on for a moment, and then gets to it. “There’s something out in the Preserve.”

 

                That unleashes a hell of a lot of questions. Okay. They shoot through Stiles’ brain all at once, all in different directions, taking bits and pieces of his attention with them to work on finding an answer in the background of his head. He takes one of them and asks aloud, “How would you know that?”

 

                Dipping his chin, Derek gives him this look of _how do I know any of my information?_ , but replies, “I live out there.”

 

                “In a cave?” Stiles blurts, and then bites his tongue on purpose. Shit, that’s not what he meant to say at all.

 

                Derek… doesn’t really respond to that, other than to stare at him – maybe he’s been glaring? Stiles wouldn’t blame him – but he’s been doing that the whole time, so it isn’t really a response. Stiles doesn’t apologize, but instead changes his question to, “Why me?”

 

                He clears his throat before Derek can open his mouth and clarifies, “Why not Allison?”

 

                “It was general news,” Derek tells him with a shrug, but that doesn’t really answer anything important at all. “Besides,” he turns his head towards Stiles’ desk, filled with books and other Slayer-world tools, and finally stops looking at Stiles for the first time since he came in. “Aren’t you the information guy?”

 

                _Allison said that?_ Stiles wants to say, but he isn’t sure if that’s what he should draw from that. He isn’t quite sure _what_ Derek is trying to get across, but he has a feeling it’s not the idea that Allison mentioned him, like, once. If she even did at all.

 

                Stiles lets his gaze wonder to the stack of books he hasn’t yet hidden from his dad’s potentially prying eyes. Most of them are titleless, often times the outside cover having been rubbed off or completely unreadable. The book on top, a muted gold, is the one he was most interested in digging into, without having to fear for his life as he read on. It had a lot of information on how the other species tended regard the Slayer. It could end up being pretty useful, later, he thinks.

 

                “I guess,” he says, shrugging back, and actually moves to drag a finger down the spine of said book. It feels old, in the opposite way of how a book could feel new, where it wasn’t grimy or dusty, but it wasn’t as clean as it could be. “Why, do you need me to look up an answer to your homework for you?”

 

                He turns to look back at Derek, but again, he’s staring at Stiles’ hands, his gaze hot and burning. Stiles has the urge to tuck them behind himself, hide them away from the sensation that runs goosebumps up his arms. He forgets what he was saying at all and wracks his head for something else, but Derek’s apparently already got a topic in mind.

 

                “Just like that?” Sometime between Stiles becoming self-conscious and Derek’s words, Derek had found his sight set on Stiles’ face again, like he isn’t randomly peeking at random body parts (and wow, does that sound bad). Stiles makes a noise, confused, and not sure what he means by that, so Derek comments, “You trust my word. Allison didn’t.”

 

                Which, isn’t wrong, but isn’t completely correct, too. She was _cautious_ , but she still looked into his warnings until he proved to be trustworthy enough for her to not have to worry that it could be a trap. As he thinks of a way to say this, Stiles licks his lips, and his breath catches in his chest when Derek’s eyes flick down for a half second.

 

                Christ, he is such a terrible friend.

 

                “I’ve already heard about you,” Stiles feels compelled to say, his words stilted, feeling a little out of it, his mouth running by itself here for him. “From her. I know that I – that we can trust you. She didn’t, at first. Walking in blind, and all that.”

 

                It feels like they’re all a bit blind sometimes. Things just sort of catch them by surprise, especially if they don’t have Derek to go off of. He’s suddenly very glad that he was nosy enough to barge into Allison’s business so early into their friendship. He couldn’t imagine going through all of this alone.

 

                Derek shrugs, but doesn’t offer anything in return.

 

                It’s silent, save for the shallow breathing Stiles can hear from himself. It’s quiet enough that he imagines he can hear the thudding from his heart, and he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t know what he should say here. If anything at all. His mind is blank, empty, when it shouldn’t be. He wonders if he should tell Derek to leave, now that he’s told him about his (admittingly short and vague) warning, but he doesn’t… want to. It’s almost as if Derek himself is hovering, staying for some other reason. Stiles just doesn’t know what it is.

 

                Finally, Derek says, and his voice is soft, “If your friend, Scott, was the Slayer, I’d have to run all my information through you to get him to listen.”

 

                By that, Stiles is surprised by two things. The first being that Derek cared enough to know anything about Scott at all. And the second… how vehemently something deep inside him takes that statement and hoards it, loves it. How much it loves even the idea that Derek could have to talk to him more.

 

                Stiles still doesn’t have anything to say, not even to that, so he bites his lip, thinking. Thinking, thinking about Derek, and alternate world, where Derek comes into Stiles’ room, knowing that Stiles will listen to him; knowing that Stiles is the one he would trust with whatever he has to say.

 

                And this time, when Derek looks down at his mouth, it’s for much longer than a half-second, Stiles is sure of it. When Stiles opens his mouth to say something about that, Derek turns away towards the window, a clear sign that he’s finally ready to leave.

 

                “Stay on your toes,” is his farewell, and then Stiles is watching as he slips out through the window. Stiles jolts, moving to follow him, and leans his body out the window, watching as a dark shape moves quickly through his backyard. How did he get to the ground so quickly without hurting himself?

 

                “Is that a threat?” Stiles yells after him, but the shadow makes no effort to turn around or answer him.

 

* * *

 

 

                “Derek and I played Sleeping Beauty in my room last night,” Stiles says as a greeting as he slips one of his backpack straps around the back of his chair before he flops into it. He spreads his homework all out in front of him, sticking his pencil eraser in his mouth as he runs a hand over his hair. Technically, he doesn’t have to do it now, but he’s found that if he bounces his homework between school hours and library time, he rarely has a problem with the Slaying interrupting it.

 

                When the only response he gets is silence, he looks up at the both of his friends. They look nothing short of horrified. Which, if he goes over what he just said, is reasonable. The Prince kissed Sleeping Beauty when she was asleep, right? That was a huge plot point. He can see how that would come across, given Derek’s track record of bursting into people’s rooms and what not.

 

                “He gave me one of those ominous fortune tellings,” tries Stiles, attempting to retract his statement. They relax, marginally, but hey. He’s got their attention now, he supposes.

 

                Scott recovers quicker, “What were your lucky numbers?”

 

                Stiles has got to hand it to him, he’s taking the topic of Derek a bit better now. That may, or may not, be because it was Stiles he was delivering the message to personally, rather than Allison herself, however. Scott should still get some credit, though.

 

                “Twenty-four,” Stiles tells him, but Allison, promptly ignoring them, talks over him.

 

                “For me?” She asks, and while Stiles, especially thinking it over (it’s been all he could do all morning), doesn’t think that’s entirely the case, he gives a cross between a nod and a shrug. “Why would he deliver it through you?”

 

                “Maybe he couldn’t find you?” Stiles attempts, despite knowing very well that Derek didn’t ask about Allison’s whereabouts. Maybe he even knew where she was exactly when he arrived at Stiles’ place. Neither Scott nor Allison look like they believe it either.

 

                That’s fine. Stiles kind of likes having this to himself, just for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> for the vampire day, i was wondering if i could squeeze in some more of this au. we'll see. i'm so much less prepared for this week than i was for laurahale week, lmao
> 
>  **EDIT** : additional sequel fic: [burn the mazes i grow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223110)


End file.
